


I'll Go Up to Three

by ravenflighton



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Secrets, Single Parents, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23649160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenflighton/pseuds/ravenflighton
Summary: Shit got real quicker than I expected. Suddenly I'm a single mother. Suddenly my kids need to get into Catholic school. Suddenly you're pretending it isn't their father you're asking for a reference.
Relationships: Boo & Fleabag (Fleabag), Claire & Fleabag (Fleabag), Claire/Klare (Fleabag), Fleabag & Priest (Fleabag), Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 88
Kudos: 294





	1. Prologue

Shit got real quicker than I expected.

I had been prepared for the heartbreak. The Joni Mitchell CD was already in the stereo. The cupboards were already stocked with booze (not G&Ts).

As soon as I got back from the bus stop I had done a full sweep. The heart first aid kit had been cracked open. I was applying pressure and elevating. I knew how to do this.

Claire having skipped countries didn't help but I was coping.

Honestly.

Seriously.

And then.... Shit. Got. Real.

Three positive pregnancy tests laid on the side of the bath. Definitely not a false positive. I still considered buying a fourth. I didn't.

I took a bath, a lukewarm one with lots of bubbles. This was a thinking bath.

It was his.

We hadn't really thought about condoms when he appeared out of nowhere and fucked up my life. Usually I was meticulous. Not with him. There hadn't been time, I hadn't had the band width for contraception. Too much else to consider. Love, God and the Priesthood all filled the corners of my mind.

So here I was. I had options. Options that I was familiar with. Though I'd only slipped once before. With Harry. I'd been heartbroken for him, he'd always wanted a baby but it hadn't been right. He had fought me on it, offered to do just about everything for me to keep it. In the end, Harry was a feminist and fully pro choice. Sometimes having a boyfriend so principled was useful.

Sometimes it meant he left you for God but hey you win some, you lose some.

Focus.

Options.

Abortion. I liked the finality of this one, no strings attached, one and done.

Not Abortion. Much more complicated and opening a multitude of other options that I wasn't ready to contemplate. Like finding my priest and telling him. Like raising this baby alone. 

Except I wouldn't be alone.

Even now I wasn't alone. In fact, keeping this baby meant never being alone again.

I thought of my mother. Eccentric and adoring as she had always been. My mum, an endless companion. The water was starting to feel cold. I could be that companion to a whole new person. A newly minted reality settled in my palm. 

I would be a mother.

Before I could second guess the choice, I dried off and booked myself an appointment.

A couple of days later, I'm there in an office which feels worryingly humid.

The natal care clinic is on the 35th floor. I spend the whole lift journey wondering if the altitude change is harmful for the baby. It occurs to me that, if it was, there would be thousands of mildly damaged babies from this maternity unit pottering about. Each of them never knowing what they might have achieved had it not been for this lift. I should have taken the stairs.

Now I was in the office I felt calmer. All of this clinical formality was adding a grown-up weight to my decision. There was occasionally something comforting about structured institution. Kinky too but I tried not to think about that.

The nurses and doctors came in and out, none of them staying long enough for me to fixate too much. Just as well because I was feeling emotionally vulnerable enough to latch on to just about anyone and fuck away the dull buzzing fear within me. Suddenly the movie, Waitress was making much more sense to me. It was all endless tests. Testing pee, testing blood, blood pressure, heart rate. Test after test after test. It was strangely impersonal for an experience so universally personal.

Finally I was laid on top of hygiene paper with someone putting freezing cold gel on my tummy. I bit back a joke about needing cooling down. It didn't quite fit.

The someone was a doctor. The doctor was a woman. A woman who definitely had a sexy secretary vibe going on. She was all sleek black hair and glasses. She was gorgeous.

The doctor asked how far along I thought I was. I pretended I didn't know to the day. The doctor made small talk as her eyes scanned an inky black screen. A gloved hand pointed out some blobs of light that meant nothing to the untrained eye.

"Is there a history of multiple births in your family?"

"What?"

"Are there any twins or triplets in your immediate family?"

"My father's a twin."

"Good, then this won't be a complete shock to you."

"What are you-"

"There are three fetuses."

"Shit."

Home on the Northern line. I got a bit of pleasure from kicking a man out of his seat, saying "do you mind? It's just I'm pregnant."

This was justified because triplets very rarely made it to full term. I had to be incredibly careful, take care of myself. Which was difficult because I hadn't taken care of anyone but Hilary since Boo. Someone was sharing my body so I needed to treat it like someone else's home. I needed to make sure the dishes were clean and get a shop in once in awhile.

My flat felt impossibly small. My world felt even smaller.

Where was I going to find room for three babies?

Shouldn't think of them as babies. It was a high risk pregnancy. Important to not get too attached this early. 

I couldn't help it though. I really hoped they were all almost exactly like him. More than anything, I wished I could know whether I should tell him. If I could, I would have asked Boo and she would have said something perfect. Everything would have made sense.

It was the reality of my current situation that the only person I trusted with this news was Claire. However rocky our relationship had been, I knew my sister. Claire basked in a crisis. This would suit her down to the ground.

So, I called my sister. Who immediately offered to hop on a plane and wait on me for the whole pregnancy.

"What, no, what about Klare?"

"He'll come with me, we both have a frankly absurd amount of holidays banked."

"No honestly, I don't want you to go to any trouble, I just might need a hand with the money stuff."

"Oh, now you remember I work in finance, are they his?"

I didn't have to ask what Claire meant by this. Quietly, I said, "Yes."

"How sure are you?"

"100%"

"Fuck." I could hear the elated sigh Claire expelled to hide her crisis related delight, "Are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know yet. Do you think I should?"

"I think you could use all the help you can get."

Here Claire wasn't wrong. We talked for hours, probably later than they should have but my sister was really great in a crisis. Every element of this was on her radar, from how I would maintain the cafe to the vitamins I would need. It occurred to me just before we hung up that part of this was because Claire had considered all of this before. She had done the planning of a woman who had been planning to have a baby. A wave of sorrow so powerful that it almost made me cry, hit me square in the face. I dismissed it as pregnancy hormones.

When I finally tucked myself into bed, I was formulating a plan to tell the priest. After all, he had a right to know. Even if all he could provide was the occasional birthday card, I did need all the help I could get.

The next day was a Saturday. If you happened to be a Catholic priest, Saturdays were for Weddings and youth groups and the occasional christening. It was also the only day of the week in which my priest slept in which gave me ample time to get to the vicarage before he left for work.

I used my pregnancy privileges again on the bus and got a seat at the front. The more London rushed by, the more apprehensive I felt. All I had to do was walk up to the vicarage door and all would be fine. He would be great, I knew he would be great.

As I strolled down the street however, I found myself face to face with a major spanner in the works. Namely, Pam, who was weeding the vicarage garden with fervour. 

I put my best foot forward. No judgement from my priest's housekeeper was going to put me off.

"Hi Pam, is he in?"

"What's it to you if he is?"

The judgement of it stunned me, it was acid sharp. I faltered. Bitch, who was she to snap like a guard dog at me. Probably fancied him.

I shook myself. Not everything is about sex. Pam probably knew how close he had come to leaving the Priesthood behind. She was trying to keep him from temptation. I was temptation.

Self realisation froze my joints.

I was temptation.

If I told him this, my good man. He would do the honourable thing. He would give it all up for me. He would resent me forever.

This was not his burden. I thanked Pam, told her it didn't matter and walked away. No amount of fevered sleep deprivation can make me regret that.


	2. Biblical Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the 10th birthday party for the triplets and secondary school is looming.

10 Years (and 8ish months) Later

Birthday parties for the triplets were a nightmare. Every year I made exactly the same mistakes. It always was cheaper to do it at my own cafe but I always forgot that, because the three of them basically lived there, they had no best behaviour incentive. And then their behaviour, almost always trickled to their friends who would run absolute riot. It only got worse as they got older. They just got bigger, more destructive.

By this point in the party, I'd already had to pry Zach off the counter once and stop, usually sweet Daniel from running out into a London street. Maria was just holding court to five other girls at a table but she was doing so loudly. I had committed to a complete refurbish of the cafe to repair the damage and entirely surrendered to them. Leaving Klare in a last stitch attempt to placate the screaming masses, Claire and I were hiding in the back splitting a bottle of wine.

"Sometimes I really wish I could parent one of them at a time."

"It took me 5 years of trying to get even one baby, you got three in one."

"It took you about two seconds of trying once you met Klare and his super sperm."

"Don't be crude, there are children present."

Klare and Claire's daughter, Ilsa, was out in the fray somewhere, probably chattering away to Daniel in half-fluent English. She was only seven but fiercely bright. Obviously, I loved her but I also kinda hated her a bit. Most days, my kids struggled with one language while Ilsa was already speaking three. She hadn't even started formal education yet.

Claire and I rarely got moments like this anymore. When the triplets were first born, she had lived with me for awhile to help. In the rare moments when all three of them were sleeping, we would rest, side by side and sleep deprived. We would drink and talk about everything. In the fledgling days of my children's lives, we built the foundations of a different relationship. She was kinder when she was happier.

"Where are you on schools for the three musketeers?"

I half laughed, "Is it immoral to list Dad's address on the submissions forms?"

"Almost definitely."

"Damn."

"That bad?"

"You have no idea how lucky you are with the education system in Finland. I'm just going to have to bite the bullet."

"Catholic school," Claire gave me her best sullen look, "The irony is horrific."

"If I believed half his bullshit I'd say it was god punishing me."

The whole Catholic school thing was a horrible reality I had been learning to face almost since they were born. St Jude's really was the best school in the area. It was the only school in a 50 mile radius where I could be sure Zach wouldn't get himself stabbed. Zach got himself into trouble very easily. 

The problem was that getting into St Jude's meant proving I was Catholic. Given I was a single mother and an atheist, I couldn't even safely call myself lapsed. If anything I had only once lapsed into Catholicism when I'd had a steamy encounter with a confessional. I had a feeling that this wouldn't count in my favour.

I might have to take them to church and train Maria out of giggling whenever she saw Jesus on the cross. It wasn't the crucifixion that entertained her, it was the half-naked man. I saw her point, honestly.

Sometimes I daydreamed about taking them to the Priest's Sunday school, about introducing them one by one. I would tell him how I gave them each biblical names, in his honour. But I gave them slightly rebellious ones.

Zachary (meaning the lord has remembered) was the first born and the biggest. He's a charmer and a comic, as a toddler, I suspected him of psychopathy. Surprisingly, he grew out of it or rather I realized that he adored people. He was naturally extroverted but not unkind with it. Sometimes he wound up the wrong people. 

Maria (meaning rebellious woman) seemed timid when you first met her but had a strange and wicked sense of humour. If you let her, she would parrot things in books and films she found funny over and over again. She was clever, witty even and sometimes marched her brothers around like her own little soldiers.

Then Daniel (meaning god is my judge), the sweetest of them all. He doted on anything smaller than himself. Even as a baby, he had never been anything but kind. He was awkward though, he hadn't the charisma that the other two employed. Instead, he was bookish and quiet. He laughed more than he made laugh and listened more than he talked.

I often thought that my priest would laugh at my description of them. Father of many. Well, he certainly hit the motherload with me. In reality, I knew he’d probably be much more angry with me than that. I didn’t regret what I’d done though. We’d been happy, the four of us and I hoped he’d been happy too. Though, of course, I shouldn’t dwell on that too much. Wondering about whether he was happy inevitably led to wondering what he was doing, dwelling on what-ifs and unsatisfying wanks in the early hours of the morning.

That evening, we had pancakes for dinner with all the toppings. This was partly an attempt to use up the leftover party food but was also a bit of a treat for the kids.  
“You’re not going to get me to do homework on my birthday,” said Zach, covering the blueberries in so much chocolate spread that I think they stopped counting as one of his five a day.

I spooned a few more blueberries onto his plate and said, “It needs to be done by Monday and we’re heading to Grandad’s tomorrow, aren’t we?”

“Can’t I bring my homework to Grandad’s?” asked Zach.

“So, you can avoid talking to Aunty?” I smiled, meaning my godmother, “She’ll have my head if you do that.”

Zach stuffed his mouth full of food and said, “That sounds like not my problem.” Beside him, Dan was giggling and trying to hide it behind his juice. It was easy to feel ganged up on by these three sometimes.

“You should have done it on Friday, like me,” said Maria.

“No one likes a swat,” said Zach.

“Nothing wrong with being a swat, Zach, your sister’s smart and organised, these are good things.”

I knew it was difficult for Zach sometimes. Dan and Maria found school much easier than he did. If he were nicer about it though, they would help him but, he often pushed them away out of frustration. I worried, a lot. Another reason to get the three of them into a good school. 

We put a film on after tea. Star wars, Empire Strikes Back, their favourite. When they were younger, they would play original trilogy for hours. Always playing the same characters. Dan as Luke, Zach as Han Solo, Maria as Leia and occasionally me as Chewbacca. There is nothing more powerful than a child’s imagination. I got to play with that cubed.

We picked up our huge sofa cheap from a charity shop not long after moving here. I wanted us all to be able to sit together, kinda stacked against each other in a mass of tiny hands and legs. Not that they were so tiny anymore.

I tried not to focus too much on how every second with them seemed to slip from under my feet. I couldn’t remember their first steps individually, just that Zach had walked first. For almost a year, the three of them had spoken only to each other in a secret language, not progressing onto English until they were toddling. I couldn’t tell you what their actual first words were though. All of these things just seemed to merge into each other.

The next day, I trooped them all off to Dad’s. This was what I called, a consolidation visit. It was the kind of visit I made to my Dad and my godmother when I’d refused to let them come to the school play or the birthday party.

This was a compromise so I could keep my children away from my Godmother’s influence. I had never wanted them to call her grandma. This hadn’t been difficult. They hated her. Between the badly thought out gifts and the food she fed them, their infant dislike had already been generated. Once they got bigger, it was her determination that they should be artists. This would have been fine, if any of them had been at all interested in painting but it failed to hold their attention. Even sensitive Dan leant more towards doodles in the corner of his notebooks than any real art, as Godmother would call it. Maria preferred books and stories and Zach would indulge Godmother only to make as much mess as humanly possible. 

It’s my Godmother who opened the door, she immediately went in to kiss them one by one. Dan was the only one who let her.

Frowning, she called after them, “Where’s my kiss?”

“Don’t force them,” I said, glancing at Dan, stood awkwardly at my side, “I’m trying to teach them about bodily autonomy.”

“It’s a kiss darling,” she said.

I put my hand on Dan’s shoulder to edge him into the house, “I read a book on it” – first lie of the day, not a book, an article in a magazine but it had been very interesting – “it’s one of the really early ways you can treat kids about consent.”

In the living room, Dad was delighted by Maria who was talking animatedly about a book she’d just finished. Already, she was reading at a GCSE level. Her most recent read was Jane Eyre. Soon, all three of them were babbling to him and he was talking in his broken sentences, readily interrupted by each new thought from his grandchildren. I loved my Dad most around my children.

Beside me, my Godmother nudged my arm, “Maria’s getting very pretty, isn’t she?” There she was right, she’s the double of her father. All her colouring is Irish and she looked like a Celtic princess, even at ten years old. I was nodding and smiling when my Godmother said, “I worry for her, pretty is a very dangerous thing to be at that age.”

I was still unpacking the layers of this when Claire arrived with Klare and Ilsa. The three of them were a surge of anxious joy I was immediately grateful for. I tried to catch my sister’s eye to no avail. Within minutes she was sat with the children. She got to see them so rarely these days. 

My Godmother clearly wanted to continue our conversation about Maria and I couldn’t think of anything worse. Checking first that Claire could hold down the fort, I made an excuse about needing some groceries and went for a walk.

The street was cold but not too bad, I thought about walks round this bit of town with Mum when we were children. If she could have known my children, I would have done anything for that. Just her support with the triplets would have been invaluable. I often wondered what she would notice about them that even I missed. The wasn’t a day when the people I’d lost didn’t rattle around in my ribcage.

The supermarket near Dad’s was purely a green grocer’s when I was a kid. Mum used to have some harmless flirty banter with him but he retired just before I started university. The Co-op that set up in its place had always been a bit disappointing. It always seemed to be just out of what you wanted. Still, it was an excuse to stay away from Dad’s for a little longer.

I picked over tomatoes, searching for the latest expiry, just in case I caved in and ordered take out that night. At that moment, I was feeling a little ambitious but I suspected that I wouldn’t later.

It was glancing up to look for herbs that I saw him. How was it possible that he was still that gorgeous? Not particularly tall but still just a little muscular beneath a black shirt. His hair was getting a little grey around the temples, just to prove he was human. Oh God. It didn’t feel like a second had passed since he left me at that bus stop. I couldn’t find the words to call for him.

It turned out I didn’t need to. Suddenly, he was looking at me.

Brown eyes. Fuck me.

He smiled a little, offering an awkward little wave. I waved back, trying to pretend my heart wasn’t racing. Thank God the kids weren’t with me.

Then he paced the last few steps towards me and said, “Hey, how have you been?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry lads to leave it on a cliffhanger, couldn't resist though. Keep those comments coming though, it's really motivating me to keep writing.


	3. Oh God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting your kids into Catholic School, harder than you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support guys, it's made me write this super quick (and not even just because of Lockdown).

“Hey, how have you been?”

For a moment more, I was dumbstruck. All that was carouselling around my mind were the faces of my three children. A part of me wanted to tell him how much Maria and Dan both looked like him. Zach was different, he had only got his father’s eyes.

“Yeah,” I said finally, my voice sounding overly loud, “I’m great, I’ve been great.”

“That’s good, what brings you to-”

“Dad, we’re-”

“Of course, I still see your stepmother occasionally, when she drops by the church.”

“She enjoys your sermons, she talks about them”

Despite himself, he lit up a bit as he said, “I’m glad, you always want people to… engage…”

“I know.”

“Is the café, still-”

“Yeah, it’s going really well actually, I have staff now.”

The priest’s eyes widened in that adorable way they did. He said, “Staff! You’ll be franchising in no time.”

I laughed. There was a moment between us, a moment of shivering laughter. It was a connection I’d been missing. I tried to resist the urge to lunge forward into it. The guilt of it gripped to the cracks in my resolve. Oh God. If I could just take his hand.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. I just nodded, smiled a little, tried not to feel the distance between us.

He was circling to go. It would have been so easy to let him but I couldn’t do it. As risky as it all was, I had to say, “Actually, father, could I ask you a favour?” I saw him flinch as I said it.

Fuck you calling me father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it.

“I don’t think that’s-”

“Not for me, it’s my kids actually.”

The surprise was palpable on his face, even though he tried to hide it. It shouldn’t be a shock to him really, it would make sense that I would have kids by now, maybe even a husband. If I hadn’t had the triplets, I might be really settling down now, not pining over this guy. Or maybe I’d be pining alone.

“Oh, you have kids!”

“Yes, three.”

“Fuck me, three, you’ve been busy.”

My stomach was turning. My laugh sounded false. It was all getting a bit too close to home. I was terrified of him finding out about them. I wasn’t even sure why, maybe I was scared of his resentment. Maybe I was scared of my children being anything but mine. I wasn’t sure at the time, I just felt that I must defend the secret of their conception.

“Well it’s just I’m trying to get them into St Jude’s.”

“Ah,” there’s a vague sense of disappointment in his face. He sort of stooped into his words, “You want a reference?”

“Yeah,” I admitted, “It’s the best school in the area, it’s either convert or move.”

“You decided convert was easier?”

“Real estate in London, what can I say?”

He laughed a little bit at that, I smiled hopefully. Then the laugh twisted into a frown, “I really hate this sort of thing, it’s all bartering church visits for word count.”

I almost said it. I almost pointed out that I might have been attending already but someone had banned me. I was too afraid of how he might crumble if he did. Maybe I would crumble.

“I’m willing to do the time,” I said, “Scout’s honour, I can’t promise they’ll sit still for a whole service but I’ll bring them.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he sighed.

It’ll pass.

There it was, in his frown, in the still pained expression behind his eyes. I couldn’t resist, I gave him my cheekiest smile and said, “Come on father, it’s been nearly eleven years. Give us a chance.”

He gave me a devastatingly long look. I’d never seen someone so successfully undress me with his eyes. He didn’t just take my clothes off though, I watched him peel back my skin. That was a look you gave someone when you were looking them in the soul. Can you fuck someone in the soul? If so, he was definitely doing that with his eyes.

“I have to get back to do the afternoon service,” he said, “But shall we have a meeting, you can tell me all about your newfound faith? How about tomorrow morning, 10am? Before you open the café?”

“We’re open for breakfast now but Paul can-”

“No no no, don’t go to any trouble,” he said, he was backing off now. Some of the shelving around him was under serious threat, “How about I come by the café around then?”

“Yeah,” I said, “Sure.”

I spend the rest of the day trying to work out if I’d done the right thing or not. True I’d been considering asking the priest for a reference but that’s exactly it. I’d been considering. I had expected, before I actually approached him, that I would have a full plan as to how the triplets were going to figure in this whole situation. Now I’d offered to actually bring them to his church, without even considering what that would mean.

My head was all muddled. Zach was looking completely ready to leave Dad’s and never come back, I hardly noticed.

Claire came to sit by me and asked, “You were gone a long time.”

I considered beating around the bush, not worrying her with the petty troubles of my sordid past but, ultimately, I needed her advice. 

“I ran into the priest.”

“What, your priest?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, what did you say?”

“Small talk mostly, he’s coming by the café tomorrow to discuss giving the kids a reference for St Jude’s.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, of course I didn’t, which I think is worse actually. Might be in over my head.”

“Look, don’t panic.”

In the next hour or so, we considered the situation from every angle. I might be able to get away with them never meeting, that was still a possibility. Even if they did meet, chances are other people were more likely to notice the resemblance than he was. God knows I never noticed how any of them were like me. 

Given that the kids knew little to nothing about their Dad, they weren’t likely to let anything slip either. Since they were very little babies, I’d been concocting a careful half-fiction about their Dad. He was a good man but it would have meant losing too much to come and raise them. Though, of course, if he had known about them, he would have wanted to. In the end, I just couldn’t ask that of him. It was all true, it just left out the whole being married to God thing. 

Mummy banging a priest was a lot for their little brains to handle.

All in all, it was manageable. More manageable than keeping the three of them alive for the past ten years. I was sure I could handle it. 

As we left, I hugged my sister extra tight. Overnight, they were heading back to Finland again. I felt a little smug about Ilsa being jetlagged at school the next morning. That’ll fuck up her impeccable educational record.

The triplets and I took the bus back home, I tried not to think about all the other moments I’d spent at this bus stop, on this bus.

“Why are Grandad and Aunty together?” asked Maria, who is sat next to me on the bus while the boys bounce in their seats in front of us.

I don’t make a habit of lying to them, if I can help it, so I said, “I don’t know, I think he likes having someone around who keeps him on his toes.”

“Is that what Nana was like?”

“Oh yeah, she was better than Aunty though, kinder. She would have adored you.”

Sometimes its difficult not to feel there’s a void around my children. There’s so much empty space. I don’t have many friends, my family’s small and their Dad has never been even a bit present in their lives. Some of their friends have small armies of friends and relatives. Us, we just have each other. 

I did bail and order takeaway, mostly because Zach had successfully done his homework and I could use rewarding the three of them as an excuse not to cook. Also, it was a thank you for not telling Godmother all of the shit I tended to let slip about her to my kids. We put the radio on, ate pizza and I savoured the joy of having the three of them around me.

“Has Ilsa gone back to Finland now?” asked Dan.

I nodded and said, “Yeah, she’s got school in the morning like you guys.”

“Don’t remind me,” grumbled Zach. His irritated pout made me want to laugh at him.

Maria was slowly picking the peppers off her pizza. I was pretending I didn’t notice because I couldn’t be bothered to argue with her about the nutritional content of her meal. It had been too much of a day already. 

School night so I put the kids to bed early. At this point I had the bedtime routine down to an art. When they were younger, I would carry Maria round as I put the boys to bed. That was when I would read them all a story together and carry my daughter, half-asleep back to her room. This had carried over, even though she was too big for me to carry, she would still trail after me as I sorted out her brothers. Then, I would tuck her into bed last and we would have a couple of minutes just to ourselves.

On that night, Maria asked, “Are you okay, Mum?”

“Yeah, course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you just seem like you’re somewhere else today.”

Where did you just go?

I smiled at her, kissed her hair and said, “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, don’t worry.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

How did I raise such an empathetic kid? Not just one of them either, Dan had been side-eyeing me all evening too. I shook my head and very solemnly swore I was fine. She didn’t look convinced, she just pursed her lips and agreed to try and sleep.

Sometimes the fact that their Dad didn’t know these wonderful kids was the saddest thing I’d ever heard.

Paul was my one regular member of staff. I had a couple of teenagers who worked the weekend but Paul was my second in command every day of the week (we traded weekends and bank holidays). Paul was an unfairly beautiful man. If we’d known each other in another life, I definitely would have tapped that. As it was, he was too embedded in my life to bring sex into it. Look at that, I’m growing as a person.

I came in a little late from the school run. Just gone 9am, Paul had been covering the breakfast shift.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said, shedding my coat by the door, “What did I miss?”

“Lots of coffees, lots of breakfast muffins, nothing to report really,” said Paul.

We set about the brunch routine. Wiping down tables, levelling up the coffee stock. There’s a regularity to it all, it’s reassuring. Especially when my mind was half-on the priest.

“There’s a priest coming to the café around ten,” I told Paul, “He’s an old friend, he’s going to talk to me about getting the triplets into St Jude’s.”

Paul gave me a sceptical smile, “You have a friend who’s a priest?”

“I’m a surprising person,” I said, with a laugh. 

The priest arrived right on time. He was out of his dog collar and I was a little relieved. It felt a little more normal when he was wearing that grey jumper and asking for tea. That V-neck though, I hoped I wasn’t blushing.

“Oh Hilary’s still here!” said the Priest.

Awkwardly, I told him, “Actually, that’s Hilary III, don’t tell my kids though.”

“You know some people use pets to teach their kids about mortality?”

“I guess I’m a soft touch.”

He smiled at me, wide. I tried to ignore how fluttery it made me feel. Then, he seemed to remember himself, he turned round to Paul behind the counter and introduced himself.

“Paul, you’re the priest then.”

“For my sins, yes, and you must be the man of this establishment.”

Immediately, I felt incredibly embarrassed for him. I should have made it clearer from the beginning. Leaning forward, I said, “Sorry, no father, Paul just works here.”

“Right, sorry,” the priest said, “I should never have assumed.”

Paul laughed, “I’m flattered, do you two want tea?”

“Thanks,” I said.

Soon me and my priest were sat at the table near the window, hands wrapped around matching cuppas with a teapot for refills. The awkward history seemed to stretch out between us. A month of sexual tension and a decade not talking, it was bound to feel thick now.

“Sorry about,” the priest said, indicating Paul.

“He’s been accused of worse.”

“Who is the…” he broke off and I could feel the implication, “Man in your life.”

“There isn’t one,” I said, “Their father isn’t in the picture.”

“At all?”

“No, just me and them.” I could see he had more questions, I tensed, waiting for the inevitable. Even though I knew not telling him at this point was lying by omission, I drew the line at actually outright lying to him.

Luckily for me, he conceded, saying, “Right, the kids, tell me about them, why do you want to send them to St Jude’s?” 

“Because if I send Zach to any other school, I think he’ll end up in a gang,” I said.

He laughed, “Is he mischievous?” 

“He’s a good kid, but he’s charismatic and funny and he struggles a bit in school sometimes.”

“He’ll end up running the gang, then?”

That made me laugh, I said, “If he’s lucky.”

“So is it just, Zach or-”

“No erm, Dan and Maria, it’s more that they won’t be challenged at other schools. They’re crazy smart, fuck knows how.”

“Smart was never your problem,” he said, with a secret smile. How did he do that? How did he flirt without flirting? He swallowed, caught his breath and asked, “How old are they?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

“Ten.”

“Christ, okay, you really got busy after me then.”

I suppose maths wasn’t a required strong point for priests. 

He flinched slightly into his smile and said, “All ten?”

“Yeah. Triplets.”

A part of me thinks he’s relieved that all three of my children aren’t to different father’s. I resent him for this, a little, before I realise it’s a complete fabrication I’ve made. Fuck me, this guy’s messing with my head.

We kept talking for almost an hour, about the triplets, about how religious or irreligious they are. I agreed to church visits. I agreed to Sunday schools. I pretended I wasn’t absolutely thrilled at the concept. Something tingled at the tips of my fingers at the idea of being back in his church. The dim sense of fear only made it more exciting.

This probably made it an even worse idea.

We shook hands on it. 

He left.

Paul said, “So… that’s the triplets’ dad is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to everyone who was desperate for our favourite hot priest to find out about the kids, he's not twigging on just yet.
> 
> Surely when he meets them at Sunday school he'll notice the resemblance though?
> 
> Right?


	4. Take Me to Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few things play on her mind, maybe it's time to have some difficult conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me a few days to update this time. I had a bit of trouble writing this chapter. Let me know what you think!

“So… that’s the triplets’ dad is it?”

It took me a couple of moments to process what he was asking me. He was staring right through me with these ice blue eyes. Finally, I said, “Is it that obvious?”

“Daniel really is the double of him.”

“Yeah I know, really fucking annoying, if you ask me.”

Paul nodded, seemed to consider that for a moment. Then he flashed a cheeky smile and said, voice dripping with inuendo, “A priest, really?”

“Piss off,” I said, before conceding, “Yeah, almost made him give up the church.”

“That good?”

“Damn right.”

There was a moment where I almost thought he was flirting. It disappeared a moment later. I shook it off. He exhaled, sharply and asked, “Does he know?”

“No, he would have- it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t.”

“And you’re planning to take three children who look like you cloned them off his pubes to his church and expect him not to notice?”

Despite it all, I was determined to leave it to fate. That night, after school, Maria and Zach were both at friends’ houses for tea so I got to spend the evening with Dan. Even though I knew my triplets were entirely their own people, I found having one of them on their own to be entirely foreign and strange. Dan, especially, was so often paired to Maria. My quietest child on his own had a way of making me feel just a little off kilter.

He helped me cook though. I had him stirring pasta while I chopped veg for the sauce. I showed him how to fry cherry tomatoes until they burst. We dodged flecks of olive oil spitting just a little. He laughed and listened, I kissed his head when he taste tested it and suggested more basil, like the oldest 10 year old in the world.

Once we’d sat down to eat, Dan asked if he could ask me something.

“Of course, anything,” I said.

Thoughtfully, he nodded. I felt a rush of love for the expression he pulled as he put his words together. Love for my children was something that constantly caught me off guard. There was nothing so complete. There was nothing that encompassed hope so entirely.

“Did you ever think about, telling our Dad, about us?”

Fuck me.

“Yeah, definitely,” I said. He kept staring at me, clearly requiring further explanation. I took a breath and continued, “I still might. And if you guys wanted to look for him, when you get to eighteen or whatever, I would support that and help you with that-”

“But you never thought about having him around?”

I tried to think of a way I could characterize it to a ten-year-old, specifically this ten-year-old. Sweet, empathetic, Dan. I nodded to myself and said, “If there were any way I thought he would have been happy, I would have told him about you guys. The problem was he would have given up everything in a heartbeat to raise the three of you. I decided it was my job to raise you three and he had other things to do. If he’d let it all go for us, I think he would have always resented us a bit and that wouldn’t have been nice for any of us.”

Dan placated and turned back to his food. Cutlery clinked in the quiet. I thought again about how quickly Paul had realized they were the priests’ kids. 

“What’s brought this on, Danny?” I asked.

He looked up, puckered his lips like he was thinking and said, “It was just something someone at school said.”

“Yeah?”

“Jack’s Dad just up and left one day, I wanted to know for certain-”

“Dan, believe me, if there was any way at all he could be here.”

“You think?”

The reality of my conversation with Paul was still sizzling a couple of days later, when the kids were doing their homework on a table in the café before closing. It was just the four of us and a couple after-work customers. These were mostly tired looking business people getting five minutes in a café before heading to depressing bedsets across the city. Sometimes I desperately wanted to get out of this city.

Maybe that’s how I would avoid the inevitable realization form the priest. I would just move all of us into the country somewhere, where none of the schools had drug problems.

But, whichever way I swung it, I knew that I was a Londoner. My kids were Londoners. It was far too late to step out of his priestly sphere.

What worried me was how obvious it had been to Paul. Granted he knew my kids really well but he’d watched my priest for hardly any time at all before he caught on. If it were that easy, his congregation would realize immediately. That could seriously fuck up his life.

Not fucking up his life was the whole reason I’d never told him I was pregnant in the first place. 

The triplets were talking in low voices, giggling about something that had happened in school. There was a world pulled tight between them that I would never be able to fully break into.

“All right, you lot, time to close up,” I said, “Wiping tables, come on.”

“This is child labour, you know,” said Maria.

Smiling, Zach nodded, “Because we’re under fourteen, you’re not allowed to put us to work. We could call childline, Mum.”

“No, you see, if I was paying you to work here, that would be illegal, but since you’re helping out of the goodness of your heart, it’s 100% fine,” I said.

None of them could come up with a counter claim. I watched them wipe tables down and re-organize the napkin dispensers and menus on the tables as I cashed up. One day, I hoped one of the three of them would take over this café. I figured 1-in-3 wasn’t bad as odds went.

We walked home together. Dan demonstrated that he was learning the elements song. That kid was gonna be on pointless one day, I was sure of it. Maria skipped on ahead, turning back every so often to check that we were still there. I sent a prayer into the universe that she would keep looking back at me her whole life. 

The three bedroom flat I’d moved the four of us into once they were progressing from cribs to beds was actually at the top of a townhouse, not far from the café. It was the fourth flat in the building. The ground floor flat was occupied by a certain award winning woman in business, who, in fact, owned the whole complex. It was how we managed to afford the place, she gave us mates rates and I did the same for her with the café. Belinda, despite hardly knowing me when the twins were born, had been an absolute brick.

“Guys, if B’s in, would you mind spending an hour or so with her? I have an errand I could do to run.”

Maria, who was currently waiting at the bottom of the townhouse steps as we walked up, said, “We could come with you.”

“You probably shouldn’t, it’s for an old friend,” I said.

“What old friend?” asked Zach.

“No third degree, please guys, I just need to, can you trust me, please?”

Dan, sweet, wonderful Dan, said “Of course, Mum, of course we trust you.”

“Shut up,” said Zach, “Mum you don’t have friends we don’t know.”

“That is simply not true,” I said, “I’ll explain when I get home, I promise.”

Luckily for me, Belinda was in and bustled the children past her with practiced ease. She gave me a brisk nod and said it would be good to stretch her babysitting muscles again. Blinking at me, she asked, “Do they need feeding?”

I wanted to say that I’d be back in more than enough time to feed the three of them but I had no idea how long this errand would take.

“Only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, do they like Chinese food?”

A few minutes later and I was on the bus to his bit of town. All these years of keeping secrets and keeping distance. I was about to strike it all down. The fear carried me on. I remembered the bus ride ten years ago. The London that rushes by me is almost exactly the same. The evening sky, the short walk to the vicarage. 

I wished it had occurred to me to bring G & Ts.

The vicarage garden was glorious in spring. Pam had outdone herself.

I knocked on the door but there was no answer. Lights were on in the church so I cut across and slipped through the heavy doors. The church choir were just starting a rehearsal. They weren’t singing yet but I could tell they were a choir, it was the scarves. I did my best to sneak round the back to the church’s back room, which is where I thought my priest was likely to be.

Before I could get there though, a familiar American voice called out, “Looks like we have a new choir member, looking for a new group of people to sleep your way through, sweet cheeks?”

Martin. Fuck.

I turned to him. I smiled, I tried to pretend this wasn’t the worst possible time to run into my sisters’ ex-husband for the first time since the divorce was final. I’d been heavily pregnant at the time, he’d shown up to my flat hoping Claire would be there, made a last stitch attempt to get her back. I stood in the doorway with an excellent poker face and a belly the size of a beach ball, swearing to God she was in Finland. Meanwhile, Claire sat in my living room, head in her hands, pretending none of it was happening.

She never really talked about how hard she’d actually found it. Not letting Martin go exactly but how he’d ripped his heart out to keep her. Sometimes the price of being happy is a lot of pain.

“Martin,” I said, “You still come here.”

Icily, he replied, “After your sister left me and my son went to university, I had to find some sort of community. I like to sing.”

“Really?” 

“Fuck you, lady, I have interests all right. Just because all you need is a good-”

“Martin,” my priest appeared and said, “I think they’re ready to start, I’ll take it from here.”

Martin smiled through an almost white beard, “Of course, father, see you hot stuff.” I shuddered slightly as he left. Thank God for Klare. Thank God.

I turned to the priest, ready to tell him he needn’t have interfered but I lost my words when I saw him. It was the full get-up again, I guessed he was still technically working. He looked baffled but happy to see me there. With a small smile, he asked, “Were you thinking of joining the choir?”

“Would it get me extra credit?”

He paused, he was staring at my lips, pulled into a sharp smirk. I felt his anxiety in my sternum. Very quietly, he said, “You need not to come here at night. It messes with my head.”

“Can we talk, father?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

The idea that he might not actually let me tell him had never crossed my mind. I still hadn’t worked out what you were supposed to say to tell someone they had three kids who could all walk and talk and do algebra. 

Insistently, I said, “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

So there’s a cup of tea in the vestry and a lamp on so it’s not too dingy. His robes are handing on a costume rail like we’re backstage at a play. I am so afraid. He doesn’t offer me anything stronger. I’m a little bit glad, even though I could do with some liquid courage right now.

“Okay then,” said the priest, sitting opposite me, “What is so important?”

I lost my breath, lost my words, tried to put the fragments together. It was perhaps because I was so thrown that the way I decided to lead was, “Do you know what I named my children, father?”

“You told me yesterday, what was it, Zach… Ben?”

“Dan, Daniel and Maria.”

“Right, sorry.”

“Names have meanings, I named them God has remembered, a rebellious woman and God is my judge, it was supposed to be symbolic,” I said.

Slowly, the priest said, “Right… symbolic of what exactly?”

“Us, you and me.”

“I’m not sure that’s-”

“I don’t think you’re understanding me, father.”

“This isn’t going to start up again, okay, I made my choice, this is my life. Please, leave me be. Please, God, let me be.”

I was shaking and I couldn’t stop it. Every bit of me was trembling. It felt as though I was systematically taking apart the pillars that had supported my life since he’d walked out of it. Before me he looked so broken about it and I wasn’t at all sure he knew what I was going to say.

I was so sorry for him.

“I don’t want to implode your life,” I said.

He looked at me and, over punctuating the “t” said, “Then don’t.”

I let the silence hold. I let the tears prick the corner of my eyes. I let every church wall fall down around us and then said, “They’re yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger... I'm nothing if not consistent. Thanks for all your wonderful comments, they really spurred me back to my keyboard when I was struggling so many many thanks.


	5. Revellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry, I didn't want to keep you waiting so long for this one, I know you've been dying to know how he was going to react. I just had a lot of skype commitments in the past couple of days that have kept me busy.
> 
> Here we go, it's a short chapter and it's all revellations.

“They’re yours.”

By the way he had been talking, I’d half-assumed he’d already worked it out. The look on his face confirmed that was definitely not the case. He blinked a couple of times, the words slipping under the dog collar.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re their father, father.” Despite myself, the turn of phrase still amused me.

A pause, he shifted the teacup in its saucer. I was used to quips. I was used to him calling me out, firing words back at me like they were scripted. I wasn’t at all used to him letting a phrase like that stand, letting the words rain down over him and hardly reacting at all. It made me want to tell jokes.

Immaculate conception.

I don’t have to tell you where babies really come from, father.

“What do you mean, I’m their father?”

This threw me. I wasn’t sure how I could be clearer. He was still talking though, words falling out of his mouth and shattering on the table between us, “It’s been ten fucking years.”

“Ten years and nine months.”

“Fuck me, fuck me.”

“I already did.”

“Will you stop smirking? Will you stop making jokes, it’s not fucking funny, all right? Ten years… you thought it was okay not to tell me I had three children – three children – for ten years.”

“I wouldn’t have told you today but-”

“Oh you’re right, that makes it so much better.”

“I didn’t want to ruin your life father. They look like you, Dan is the double of you. When I bring them to church on Sunday-”

“Fuck that, you are not coming anywhere near my church. Get out.”

His anger was foreign to me. He’d never been this angry with me, even when I was desperately trying to get him into bed, he’d only be half angry with me. There’d always been a sparkle of a challenge behind his eyes. Now he was furious. I didn’t know where to put it.

I thought of Boo. I thought of the way she’d screamed at her boyfriend when he told her. Then she’d just sat behind the café, stroking Hillary and staring. But god there was so much rage in her eyes. She was alight with it.

The priest was alight with it to. It was just a tiny bit sexy.

I hadn’t moved.

He leant on the table and said, “Get out of my church.”

I moved quickly for the door. A part of me expected him to stop me. He didn’t though. There wasn’t even a whisper of it.

I practically ran home. In fact, I got to the top of the stairs in our apartment building before I remembered that my children were downstairs with Belinda. Regardless, I unlocked the flat and tried to get my shit together before I went down to fetch them. This wasn’t even a space he’d ever been in and yet he was all over it. His children were all over it.

I went to my bedroom. I sat on my bed and tried not to cry. I didn’t succeed.

Luckily the kids didn’t noticed that, when I picked them up, I’d cleaned off all my make-up. Maybe Dan noticed I’d been crying but he didn’t say anything.

I thanked Belinda and she softly said, “Hope everything is okay, darling.”

Already half-tired and full-bellied, they willingly curled up in front of the tele while I made myself a sandwich. The three of them looked picture perfect, I wished I could have wound them all up in my arms. The greatest pain of raising triplets is that you can never quite hold all of them at once. You only have two arms.

“So, who was the old friend?” asked Maria as I sat down on the end of the sofa. Her father’s face looked back at me. I needed an excuse, quickly.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I said, “You won’t remember Claire’s ex-husband, Martin.”

“The alcoholic sex addict?” asked Zach.

“Who told you that?”

“Aunt Claire,” he replied.

I squeezed Maria close to me and said, “He probably wasn’t a sex addict. Anyway, he… needed a community.”

“I thought we don’t talk to him because he’s a sociopath,” said Maria. I didn’t need to ask who had told her that, it was almost definitely me.

With a smile, I said, “Even sociopaths need kindness sometimes.”

The four of us cuddled up on the sofa and watched panel shows. I tried to focus on their joy, their laughter, on the way they still smelled a bit of the Chinese food from earlier. Slowly, I tried to revel in the routine. Laughter, bath and bed.  
I think I had, until that point, counted entirely on the Priest’s good nature. I had fully expected him to be loving and understanding. As if he wasn’t one of the most complicated and contradictory men I’ve ever met. The whole thing prickled under my skin all evening.

The thing about having kids is that, whatever else is going on, their life has to continue. Three children still need feeding, they don’t care if you’re heartbroken. They don’t even care really that you’re heartbroken on their behalf. They still need walking to school, they still need their morning orange juice, they still need telling that they can’t buy sweets on the walk in. 

Without them, I might have left Paul to open the café on his own that morning. When I came in through the door, he took one look at me and said, “Rough night?”

“You have no idea,” I said.

There must have been something in my face because Paul didn’t ask. Normal motions continued, I tried to dismiss the feeling that I was drowning in the guilt of it. I was trying not to be snippy with the regulars but I wasn’t doing so well.

Halfway through the morning, Paul said, “I’ve got this if you want to go home, if everything okay?”

“I’d rather be here, keeping busy,” I said, “But I might stick to kitchen jobs if it’s all the same to you?”

With a nod, Paul took my tray from my hands and let me slip back behind the counter. He would softly feed orders back to me and I would make them while he took payment and bussed tables. It was relaxing. There was a kind of order to it. I was trying not to dwell on every single lie I’d ever told, omission I’d ever made.

God. Boo.

In the mid-afternoon, I heard the shop bell ring but didn’t look up. You learned to half tune-out the bell when you were in the café all day. It was only when Paul said, “Hey, your priest is here.”, that I looked towards the door. 

He looked about as miserable as I felt. There were dark circles under his eyes and the strange grim conviction that had scored his face on the night when we slept together. It did something to my insides. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I hallucinated for a moment that he crossed the room and kissed me. The desperate wish for him and I to meet somewhere in a middle that didn’t exist, not as far as I could work out anyway.

“Do you have a minute?” asked the priest. I just nodded.

I thought Paul might have laughed just a little at the two of us. God he was a bastard sometimes.

We sat down at the table we’d sat at before. I brought over tea and set it down. Biscuits too. Nothing wrong with a bit of bribery. The silence rattled between us in the crockery and the crunch of biscuits. Even the crumbs seemed to clatter onto plates. I waited for him to speak because what else was I supposed to do. I had no idea whether he’d come here to scold me or save me.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said.

“Nothing to-”

“Not for being angry… I think I have every right to be angry but I shouldn’t have lost my cool like that. It’s not… I’m not that person anymore.” I ignored the implication that he used be the sort of person who did. I almost didn’t care. He took his time, picking up his tea, sipping it, inhaling the tea as if it calmed him. Then he said, “So, I have three children. Their names are Zach, Daniel and Maria. They’re only just ten and you’re their mother. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“And they have your last name?”

“Yes.”

“Middle names?”

“Zachary Michael, Daniel Lewis and… Maria Jacqueline, after my mother.”

“That’s good,” he said, “That’s lovely actually. What have you told them… about me?”

“As close to the truth as I could manage without exploding their brains,” I admitted, “They know I never told their father about them because I knew he’d give everything up to raise them and I couldn’t ask him to do that.”

The look he gave me seemed infinitely long before he said, “That wasn’t your choice to make.”

“I really almost told you, the day after I found out for sure, I got all the way to the garden gate.”

“What stopped you?”

“Pam, I think she might have half known and she just… I can’t even remember what she said but I suddenly realised that you would give it all up. If I turned up on your doorstep and said, surprise there are three babies in here, you would have just taken it as a sign or something. And I didn’t want to fuck your life any more than I already had. I didn’t want you to look at me and them in ten year’s time and resent us. I loved you too much to condemn you to bitterness, your whole life.”

“Bitterness isn’t who I am.”

I nodded but didn’t tell him that I who he was now was a product of having spent ten years as a priest. Hopefully, a celibate priest. It would wound my ego to know someone else had challenged his vows. She wouldn’t have been as persistent as me.

“The point is we’re fine, father, the four of us are doing just fine,” I said. He didn’t need to feel guilty. He didn’t need to question anything. “I just wanted to give you a head’s up and maybe we can work out a cover story for Sunday. Because Dan really does look just like you.”

There was a catch in his voice as he asked, “Can I see a picture?”

“Of course, yeah, of course,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. To be honest, just about every picture on my phone currently was of the triplets. It was important to take any naughty pictures off your camera roll when you had young children. They are better at finding them than you were most of the time.

I found my most recent picture. It was on the morning of their birthday. Zach had an arm around his brother and sister, standing so tall you’d swear he’d grown a whole inch overnight. Maria was grinning widely, still cocking her head to one side to get the best angle. And Dan was kinda pulled into himself, arms folded and looking up at the camera through his eyelashes. 

“You can scroll through if you like,” I said as I passed my phone to him.

Something incredibly sincere lit behind his eyes as he looked at them. I had to catch my breath. He looked so incredibly sad. His face kept shifting incrementally. My stomach dropped as he knocked a tear from his eyes with his thumb. Swallowing it all down, he asked, “Who’s who?”

I pointed them out, admitted you’d hardly been able to tell Zach and Dan apart as babies, “But then the poor kid got my nose.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your nose, or his,” he said, “They’re beautiful.”

I watched him scroll back through ten years of pictures. There were first days at school and first football games. There was a picture of when Zach fell out of a tree and broke his arm. School discos where Maria wore the sweetest sparkly dresses and the boys were in shirts. Maria with her best girl friends in little dance costumes. Halloweens and Christmases and Birthdays. Finally, he got to the photo I transferred onto every phone I had had since the triplets were born.

It was not long after I’d given birth. Claire’s sat beside me in the hospital and Dad’s leant awkwardly on the headboard. I have Zach and Maria cradled in my arms and Claire is holding Dan. You can tell who is who because Zach was so much bigger than the other two when he was first born. We’re all smiling. Even though it’s my godmother who is taking the picture and there’s a gap beside my father where my mother should be, we are happy and we are whole.

The priest inhaled sharply and said, “I want to meet them.”


	6. Daddy Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Fleabag has something to tell her kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me awhile. Thanks so much for all your great comments, I've been living for them. Hope you enjoy the next twist in the tale.

The priest inhaled sharply and said, “I want to meet them.” On seeing the expression on my face, he added, “You don’t even have to tell them who I am.”

Drily, I said, “They’re not thick, father.”

“I want a relationship with them,” the priest said.

“Children aren’t like other people, if you’re going to come into their life you need to be prepared to stay, all right? And I don’t really fancy asking them to lie to your parishioners.”

He squirmed just a little. A part of me revelled in his discomfort. Don’t judge me, I had heart break with pregnancy hormones. Sleepless nights worrying about how exactly a guinea pig themed café was supposed to support three children and me or how I was supposed find the time to raise them. There were days when I wasn’t sure I’d make it or how existing with this heartache was sustainable. It would pass. It would pass. It would not pass.

“I’ll be there, I want to be there,” he said.

Resentfully, I said, “What, because people don’t leave people they love?”

“It’s been ten years and if you’d told me-”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t.”

“I know, but you have now.”

I thought about it. Really thought about it and then said, “Let me talk to them about it.”

“Yeah?” he raised his head, hopefully. For all the world, he looked like Dan, asking for extra ice cream. The realisation rippled through me. Being sexually attracted to the father of your children is weird.

I nodded and said, “I’m going to need to tell them the whole story though.”  
“The whole story?” he asked, voice low with inuendo. It took me by surprise. I smiled at him.

“Not the whole story but the bit about you being a Catholic priest is probably relevant.”

“So?”

“So if they want to meet you, they’ll meet you.”

Next problem. How do you tell your three wonderful children, who have a certain life and a certain set of expectations, that their father wants to meet them? Well you probably start with ordering pizza and stocking the freezer full of ice cream. 

I do leave Paul to close up and he raises an eyebrow at me as I leave. At some point we would have to get drunk and talk shit about this whole thing. Who knows, maybe I’d be able to leave the kids at their Dad’s. Just the idea of being able to say that seems absurd.

I went by the local pizza place but before I could go in, my phone rang and a snotty receptionist is telling me to come into the school.

“Zach was in a fight at lunch?”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine but I’m afraid you’ll have to come in, he’s in quite a lot of trouble. You know we like to involve the parents when it comes to major behavioural issues.”

I tried not to get angry. Zach wasn’t a violent kid, she seemed to be throwing around some powerful words there. Nevertheless, I said I’d be on my way. I nixed the pizza, power walked to the school. I passed the kids’ classroom, I saw Dan, with his head down over an exercise book.

No Maria though and no Zach.

I was buzzed into the building. This municipal building, the hallways of which looked more like those of a hotel than a school. During class time, when the children were all shut away behind desks, it was a strange place. What was stranger was, just inside the public entrance, was Maria.

She was in her uniform, buttoned up and neat as I’d left her that morning. There was something in her eyes though. She was crumbling, like frustration and confusion was turning her inside out. 

It was only a little alcove, one they left you in so you could be escorted to wherever you were going. She wasn’t supposed to be able to get this far. I didn’t ask how she’d managed it.

“It wasn’t his fault, Mum,” she said, then continued, very quickly, “I didn’t want him to do it and Zach was just defending me-” She was babbling so fast I couldn’t catch all her words.

“Slow down, what’s happened?”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“Okay.”

“There’s no time!”

“Okay, I promise to hear Zach out, I promise, it’s okay,” I said and pulled her against my chest. She was shaking, just a little, half-vibrating with nervous energy against me. My instinct was to take her away, to get Zach and Dan and run. Something primal reared within me. Even though I knew there was no real danger here, I wanted to pick them up and run until they were safe.

But then the receptionist was there, looking incredibly confused and sending Maria packing back to her classroom. 

Zach, I found, was sat side by side with another boy, just outside the headmistress’s office. Both of them looked a bit roughed up and I hated myself that I was proud of him because the other kid looked way worse.

Apparently, the other kid’s parents were already there so the receptionist took me straight into the office where the three of them were laughing. Out of habit, I smiled as though I understood the joke. 

“Ah,” said the headmistress, “This is Zach’s Mum.”

“Hi,” I said and shook hands with the parents of Tyler, apparently the other boy sat outside.

“Now we can get this sorted out,” said the headmistress, through a wide smile.

I sat down in my chair, dropped my handbag by my feet and asked, “What exactly happened?”

“Our boys got into a little spat is all,” said Tyler’s Mum. 

Her husband scoffed and said, “Well Tyler was attacked, I’m sorry but that’s just what happened.” I recognised this guy a mile off. Wanted to send his son to private school, couldn’t quite afford it, hates himself every time he comes here because it had the audacity to be free.

“Right,” I said, “Well Zach’s not usually violent, in my experience-”

“We see this all the time Mrs-”

“Miss.”

“Well it’s just boys posturing, you see, they’re at that age. They’re starting to test boundaries.”

The mother, who I could tell is trying to be helpful, added, “You probably don’t see it, with you being a single mother. Not a lot of men in the house for him to buck against, as it were.”

I smiled, sweetly, back at her and said, “Well Zach is the oldest of triplets, he never even play-fights with Dan.”

“I think that’s a special case,” said the headmistress, “The point is, it doesn’t have to be provoked.”

Tyler’s Dad looked straight at me and said, “But your son started it.”

“I’d like to speak to my son about that, if that’s all right, just before we start talking about appropriate consequences.”

Before they had time to protest, I had taken myself out of the office and pulled Zach halfway down the corridor by his arm. Leaning down so I could look him in the eye, I said, “I’m not angry with you-”

“You’re just disappointed, right?” he said. Those round brown eyes were full of an anger that surprised me.

“Zach,” I said, “I just want to know your side of the story.”

All of a sudden, Zach was five years old again. He gave me a look identical to the one he gave me when he’d grazed his knee riding his scooter on the pavement outside the café. Then he let out a big sigh and said, “Tyler’s been mean to Maria for weeks and today he kissed her and she didn’t want him too. She pushed him away and he called her a bitch so then I punched him.”

I pulled him tight to my chest, kissed his head and told him, “As the adult in your life, I want you to know that there are always ways you can solve things without hitting anyone. But standing up for your sister when there are dickhead guys around proves you are the sort of boy I always hoped you would be.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely, I’ve got your back in there.”

I have him one last squeeze and walked back into the headmistress’s office. Standing tall, I asked, “Did you stop to get Zach’s side of the story at all?”

“Of course, we did,” said the headmistress. The smile was forced and overly deferential. 

I smiled back, “So you just chose not to tell me that Zach started this fight because Tyler put his hands on my daughter, Maria?”

“That’s a big accusation,” said the headmistress, she held out a consoling arm to Tyler’s Dad, who looked pretty peeved, to be honest. Sorry mate, your kid would still be a dickhead in a private school.

My feet were planted firm. Mama bear was coming out and I wanted to make the most of my height. I would not be cowed. I was my children’s protector in the adult world. 

“Zach told me, he only hit Tyler because Tyler had kissed his sister and when she pushed him away, he called her a bitch.”

I looked to Tyler’s mother for some sort of outrage but she just looked incredibly embarrassed, her face had gone tomato red. His father was twitching with rage. I didn’t budge.

“Regardless,” the headmistress said, “I’m sure you’ll agree that violence is never the answer.”

“Of course,” I said, “And I have started that conversation with Zach already but I would hope the school agrees that a conversation needs to be had with Tyler about the bodily autonomy of women.” I was really struggling not to grin. I was bossing this, it was like I was on Law and Order.

“He’s ten,” said Tyler’s Dad.

“So’s Maria.”

Tyler’s Dad turned out to be a very tall man. He was the kind of man who could loom over you just by standing next to you. The effect of him actually trying to intimidate me in a very small office was terrifying. I stood firm.

“Look, sweetheart,” his voice had dropped from its pompous rp to a gruff east London drawl – ah, jumped up cockney with a complex, makes sense – “Maybe if your son had a man about the house, he wouldn’t feel the need to talk with his fists. Maybe he’d know it’s up to a father to protect his daughter, not up to him.”

The headmistress was leaning over her desk, desperately trying to diffuse the situation. Tyler’s mother too, was tugging desperately at her husband’s sleeve. I stood firm and said, “Maybe if your son didn’t have you around to harp, he wouldn’t feel the need to attack any woman who doesn’t give him what he wants.”

For a moment, I thought he might actually hit me but then his wife got between us both. She begun to chirrup about both boys being in the wrong but it was important we came up with a solution that worked for everyone. I felt a sudden and unexpected sympathy for her. It must be pretty difficult to be married to a guy who hid his accent to sound posher and clearly had some anger issues.

The headmistress began suggesting options and we all sat down to discuss them, even with pride and anger still bristling within me.

It was agreed that both boys would be suspended from school for a couple of days. For my part, Zach would be bussing tables in the café for two days as community service. Tyler would be, according to his mother, confined to his room. Neither boy would have a mark on their record, neither would have to sit detentions. It was a workable outcome, only nullified by the fact I still bought the kids pizza on the way home.

The whole incident should have put all thoughts of the priest and his interest in his children aside. It should have been the ultimate distraction, wiping everything from my mind but the possible trauma my children had endured.

Instead, something that Tyler’s idiot Dad had said was worming its way into my brain. Maybe Zach did feel a pressure to protect his sister, be the man of the house because there wasn’t anyone older or bigger to do that for him? I’d tried to keep them free of those kinds of gendered stereotypes but they were existing in the world, no-one can avoid them. 

Maybe meeting the priest would be good for them.

That evening, Maria was sticking to Zach like glue, clearly unendingly grateful for what he’d done. I decided to put legally blonde on at some point over the weekend. No-one better to remind you men are bastards and women are powerful than Elle Woods.

Perhaps I should find some less pink-based movies to inspire my daughter.

We ate pizza, I tried not to procrastinate. Yet the moment seemed to ring out like the last note of a song. I didn’t want it to end. From the moment I told them my priest wanted to meet them, they would no longer be entirely mine. The possibility of a father would solidify into something real and tangible.

I had no idea how they would take it.

Finally, I cleared my throat and said, “Okay, I have a confession to make.”

“Have you hired a hit on Tyler’s Dad?” asked Zach. Immediately, Dan laughed and Maria blushed. I have the best kids in the world.

“How do you know what a hit is?”

“I watch television.”

“No, not that. Actually, it’s that I ran into your Dad a week or so ago.” The three of them had gone quieter than any of them had been in years. I felt a little warm. I continued, “I told him about you guys and he wants to meet you.” All the colour had drained from Zach’s face, I tried to ignore it. Again, I continued, “There are some things I should tell you first. I never let you know that the reason I never told him… well the reason I thought it would mess up his life was that your Dad was, and is, a Catholic priest.”

Very very quietly and blushing as she did, Maria asked, “Aren’t they supposed to be, like they’re not allowed to… make babies.”

“Yeah, it’s generally frowned upon, and your Dad loves being a priest so him and I had to call it. We both loved each other too much to uproot everything for each other.” Maria and Dan had their hands clasped together on the table, so tight their little knuckles were white. I took a deep breath and continued, “What I told him when he asked to meet you, was that I would talk to you guys about it and see what you thought.”

Both Maria and Dan had turned to look at Zach. All thought of pizza had been forgotten. My chest was tight.

“So, what do you think?”

When Zach didn’t speak, Maria said, “I’d like to meet him.”

“Me too,” said Dan.

“I don’t,” said Zach, “I don’t want to meet him, we’ve been doing just fine on our own.”

Quickly, I said, “It’s not about us needing him. I don’t think you guys need your Dad around to be completely fine but I also think you’re old enough that I’m not the one who gets to decide what relationship you have with your Dad if he wants to have one with you. He’s not a bad guy.”

“Did he hurt you, Mum?”

The question surprised me. Sometimes it was easy to forget how big Zach’s heart was. I smiled, tried not to look too pained and said, “He didn’t hurt me but the situation was really painful for both of us.”

“I don’t want to know him,” said Zach and then, as though to punctuate the point, dug back into his pizza. I looked to Dan and Maria but both of them had dug back into their food too, avoiding my gaze. Most parents put up a united front for their children, I didn’t expect to have them putting one up for me. 

After dinner that night, they all disappeared into the boys’ room and I knew for a fact they were having a triplet meeting. I let them have it. It was probably good for the three of them to be able to talk to each other about it. Some parents would kill for their kids to get on as well as mine did.

In the interim, I sat on the sofa and rang Claire. We made small talk for a few moments. Work, the weather. She told me I should ring Dad, I asked her whether she could ring and pretend to be me, she laughed.

“So,” she asked, “What’s happening with the priest?”

I told her everything, she only occasionally punctuated with a smothered, “Oh God.”

When I finished, she asked, “Do you think Dan and Maria will talk Zach round?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Do you think he might… you know?”

“What? Leave the church, I doubt it, we don’t need him to anyway do we?”

A hint of irony lasted her voice as she said, “No and it’s not like you’d want him to, is it?”

“Fuck you.”

We talked for a little longer, about the kids, about Klare. Sometimes I really missed my sister. I could have done with her fortitude for this. Just as I was hanging up, Maria appeared in the living room door, “Mum?”

“Yeah?”

“We all want to meet him, Dan and I have talked to Zach, we’re in.”

“Okay.”


	7. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting seven chapters in the making

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, really sorry this has taken me so long. It was a properly difficult chapter to write. I really hope you enjoy it.

I called the Priest just after I’d tucked the kids in. I wondered if they were lying awake thinking about when they’d get to meet him, this I put aside.

His voice was groggy when he answered, “Hello?”

“No way were you going to sleep earlier than my ten year olds.”

“It’s been a really long couple of days, all right?”

I laughed at him. My room wasn’t all that different to how it had looked when he’d- I mean it was a different flat but there were the same prints on the walls, the same storage boxes, the same throw pillows. I really needed to update my home décor.

“Have you told them that I-”

“Yeah, yeah they want to meet you.”

“Right, okay, fuck.”

“I was wondering if you wanted to come by the café around closing time tomorrow. It’s Paul’s weekend off so the kids will be at Hillary’s.”

“Okay… yeah that sounds great. How are they, how did they take it?”

I thought about the shock on Zach’s face, I thought about his anger. But then there was Maria’s excitement before bed, the way she practically shook with questions as I tucked the blankets round her that night. 

“It’s not quite that simple,” I said.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“There’s three of them, father, they don’t always respond to things as a unit. Zach wasn’t as enthusiastic as the other two, I think Maria talked him round.”

“Wow, all right then.”

“He had a bad day at school.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, look, I’ll see you tomorrow-”

“Around five?”

“Half past.”

“Great.”

It was all arranged for Saturday. I told the triplets at breakfast and immediately Maria had rushed to change. She came out in her favourite green dress that picked out the green and gold in her brown eyes. She was dressing up for him, like being pretty could make your Dad stick around. The boys were more casual about it, but I could see they were tense with it too. Dan had gone even quieter than usual and Zach seemed jumpy and prickly. 

All day, I watched their eyes flick towards the door every time the bell rang. I felt for them. I wished Paul had been there.

They still chatted intermittently with the regulars. I think it was a distraction. All of us were vibrating with the excitement of it though. I was making food faster than I could think.

At one point, one of our regulars said, “Calm down chicken, you’ll cover me in butter at that rate.”

“Sorry Joe, I’m warming up for the lunchtime rush.”

Finally, once the hours had melted away, just before half five, the bell rang and the priest was there. Red jumper and jeans, not looking particularly priest-like at all. Actually, his energy was far more Dad than father. I shuddered at it but in a good way. I’d forgotten he could do that just by looking at me.

He smiled, I smiled back.

Then, I looked across at my children. Maria and Dan were holding hands, both of them looking half terrified. Zach was frozen still, looking right at me. They’d put two and two together then.

“Do you want some tea, father?”

“That’d be great,” he said.

He hovered awkwardly by the counter as I set out a tray. I poured a few glasses of juice for the kids too. Everyone else had cleared the café by that point so I called across to Dan to turn the sign to closed. I kept my eyes on the boiling water in front of me but heard Dan’s feet shuffle across the lino. Once the tea was brewing, I carried it across to the table where my children were sat. The priest followed me.

Setting the glasses down, I said, “Right father, this is Zach, Maria and Dan.”

“Hi,” he said, awkwardly.

I pulled up a chair for him and sat myself down beside Zach. All three of my kids looked like a set of baby rabbits caught in the headlights of the car. Maria and Dan were holding hands again. Straightening his back, Zach looked almost as though he was trying to make himself bigger.

The priest looked at me, took a deep breath, smiled and said, “I know your Mum pretty well and, knowing what I do about her, the three of you can’t all be this quiet.”

I let out a dry laugh. A tension broke slightly, only revealing another layer of tension. Beside me, Zach said, “You look like Dan.”

“I do, yeah,” the priest said.

“For God’s sake, Zach, that’s how genetics work,” said Maria, then suddenly spotted the blasphemy and went pale. She looked at the priest and said, “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” said the priest, with a laugh, “Honestly, it’s fine, I’m nervous too.”

“You’re Irish,” said Dan.

“I am, I’m from Dublin.”

Sitting up a little straighter, Maria said, “That’s the capital of the Republic of Ireland.” When she was around seven, my daughter became obsessed with memorizing every capital city in the world. She managed most of Europe before she got bored.

“It is, it’s also the most beautiful city in the world.”

“Controversial opinion there, Father,” I said.

He looked at me, eyes lighting up, and said, “It’s London for you, is it?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said, “Prague, it’s got to be Prague.” I could see in his face, I’d surprised him. There was nothing that skipped my heart more than his smile.

“Do you live in Dublin?” asked Zach.

Turning to him, he said, “Er, No, I live in Tooting, where my parish is, not far from your Granddad, actually.”

“You know Granddad?”

“I do, I officiated his wedding.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I did the service, I married the two of them.”

There was a pause, the triplets were looking at each other. Very quietly, Dan asked, “Does Granddad know you’re our Dad?”

The priest looked at me, I shook my head and said, “No, he thinks it’s some one night stand that I didn’t know well enough to tell.”

“I’m almost offended,” said the priest.

I laughed at him, “If you want to have that conversation with my godmother, you’re welcome to, father.”

The conversation continued. The triplets asked him everything, favorite colours and animals and pop songs.

“Are priests allowed to listen to pop songs?” asked Maria.

He grinned, “Definitely, have you guys not seen Sister Act?”

What surprised me most, perhaps unfairly, was how game he was. Most people struggled with the triplets as a three. They were a lot, on mass. Great kids but there were three of them. They took up a lot of energy and attention. Especially the way Maria asked questions and the way Zach teased but the priest kept up. 

In fact, the priest, seemed delighted by every question. He was as fascinated by them as they were by him.

We’d been sat there for hours before I rested my hand on the back of Zach’s head and said, “Probably time to call it a night, I think.”

Dan’s eyelids were drooping a little, I could tell we were getting close to bedtime even without checking. It had been a long day for my kids. The priest sent a pleading glance in my direction but I shook my head and said, “We’re already close to bed time and I haven’t even fed these three yet.”

“It’s dark out, let me walk you home.”

“We’re fine,” said Zach.

Through a wicked smile, Dan said, “Careful Zach, don’t get angry now.” Maria elbowed Dan, sharply when they said so.

Zach rolled his eyes at him and sat back in his chair.

“Have a temper, do you Zach?” asked the priest.

“Only when it’s justified,” said Maria, tartly.

The priest looked to me for explanation. I glanced across at Zach’s downcast eyes, then said, softly, “Zach’s been suspended from school for a couple of days for getting into a fight, which he shouldn’t have done, but the other kid was by all accounts a little shit so we’re calling the whole thing a learning moment.”

Behind his eyes, I thought I saw in the priest a small sense of pride, or at least happy surprise. He looked to Zach and asked, “What did he do, Zach?”

“He kissed me,” said Maria, “And when I didn’t like it, he called a bitch so Zach hit him.”

“And they excluded him for that?” the priest asked me.

“Tyler too,” I said, “In the headmistress’s defense, he did look considerably worse than you.” It didn’t escape my notice that Zach looked a little smug. We picked up our stuff and locked up. Despite Zach’s assertions that we’d be fine, the priest did walk us back to the flat.

Before I’d had kids, I’d never really been afraid of the city at night. Naïve of me but I’d put on my armor and the world hadn’t scared me. I trusted the ability of my hand to curl into a fist quicker than anyone could get to me and the ability of my feet to carry me home. Having kids was something different. The three of them relied on me to keep them safe. I felt when they were in danger as though they were uncontrollable extensions of myself.

The priest’s presence did not make me feel any less afraid but it did make me feel that I had an ally. I didn’t realise how much I had missed that.

“Have you ever been in a fight?” I asked him, the kids were out of earshot. The three of them were puckered together on the pavement ahead of us, talking together.

In a low voice, he said, “Many, I was quite wild before the priesthood, you know?”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it, some time,” I replied.

“Are the three of them always so insular?”

“Not always, but they are their own unit, it’s pretty usual with twins and triplets.”

When I turned back to look at him, there was something in the priest’s eyes I couldn’t read. Maybe it was wonder or curiosity. I was unsure.

The night was cold, I found myself worrying that the kids weren’t well enough wrapped up. We weren’t far from home though.

The three of them gathered on the steps of our building, once we reached it, waiting for me to unlock the door. I climbed the steps, turned the key in the lock, then turned back to the priest and asked, “Do you want a cup of tea?”

Silently, he nodded and followed us. I became immediately aware of the state of the flat. As I let the kids through the door at the top of the stairs, I turned back and said, “Sorry about the mess.”

In fact, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. There were only the pizza boxes, still on the kitchen counter and a few toys on the floor. Maria, realizing that the priest had come with us, immediately initiated a grand tour of the flat. Looking dazed, he followed her and Dan trailed after the two of them. I suspected he was following to be amused by Maria’s enthusiasm.

I put the kettle on and threw some pasta in a pan, shifting the pizza boxes from the surfaces and into the already overloaded recycling. My mind, I tried to keep on these ordinary domestic things, otherwise I would explode with tension of the priest’s presence. I had no idea at all whether him being here meant anything. My nerves weren’t helped by Maria saying, very loudly, “And this is Mum’s room but you’ll have seen that.”

Zach sat at the kitchen table, looking unusually sullen. 

As I poured the water over the pasta and turned up the hob, I whispered to Zach, “What do you think of him?”

Shrugging, Zach grumbled, “He’s all right.”

With a small smile, I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and kissed his hair. He relaxed slightly. Zach was the moodiest because he felt things so deeply. Where Dan would laugh, Zach would sulk.

“Are you staying for dinner, father?” I asked as he emerged from the door with Dan and Maria.

He began muttering about how he didn’t want to impose but then seemed to realize that he didn’t at all have any food at home. With a bashful smile, he said, “Actually that would be great.”

I threw in an extra cup of pasta and began working on the sauce.

Recognizing my concentration, the triplets left the kitchen space to gather on the sofa. I could see Maria glancing back over her shoulder, expecting the priest to follow. He didn’t though, he picked up the cup of tea which I had left on the counter for him and sat at the kitchen table. I could feel his eyes on me.

“It’s a great flat,” he said.

“We’re really lucky, a friend owns the building.”

“Is that how you afford it?”

Looking across at him, I said, “We’re okay, father, really.”

“I’d like to help,” he said.

“Don’t you think someone might notice if you’re funneling your income off to the four of us?”

“The church isn’t half as much like big brother as you think. No-one is monitoring my finances.”

“I appreciate the offer but we really are fine.”

Under his breath, he said, “They’re brilliant kids, you’ve done an amazing job.”

“They’re about to be teenagers, I’m not counting my chickens yet.”

We ate our first meal together as a family. I didn’t eat much, I was too nervous about Zach’s table manners or about how long he was going to stay. I wasn’t sure what I would do if he tried to stay the night. Tomorrow was Sunday.

He waited in the living room as I put the kids to bed. Dan was practically asleep on his feet, he was out like a light before I’d even drawn the covers up under his chin. Zach was more restless, I dropped to his level, beside the bed and told him, “I think Dan and Maria really appreciated that you went through with today.”

“Are things going to change, Mum?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are we going to be at his every other weekend, like with Miles’ parents?”

“I don’t think so, but whatever happens, I promise we’ll talk about it as a family. The four of us, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” I kissed him, then left turning out the light as I left. When I didn’t find Maria in her room, I went back to the living room and found her sat on the coffee table in front of the priest, talking animatedly.

With a sigh, I said, “Maria.”

“Sorry Mum,” she said. Then looked straight at the priest and asked, “We’ll see you again, won’t we?”

“If you want to see me, of course,” he said.

She stood and walked towards me with purpose, turning back only at the last minute to say, “Would be okay if I called you Dad?” Wide-eyed, the priest nodded. With a smile, Maria said, “Night Dad.” She scuttled past me and I lingered just long enough to see the wonder on his face.

After I tucked her into bed and turned the light out, I returned to find him stood at my window. When he looked back at me, his expression was unbearably melancholic.

Softly, he said, “Am I expecting you at church tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, I can bring them, if you want, one of the weekend girls can open up the café for me.”

“It might be too much. Christ-”

“Blasphemy, father.”

“Fuck you.”

The tension I’d been feeling all night was starting to rise to the surface. I couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too. The way he was smiling, the way he kept glancing to my lips. Tell me you do. Tell me you’re as terrified by being so close to me as I am being close to you. Tell me I’m not losing my mind alone.

“Don’t come tomorrow, maybe another Sunday.”

“Okay.”

I let him out and locked the door behind him, closing my eyes and trying not to remember just how much of a good kisser he was.


End file.
